


Steer Me from the Hive of Bees

by edy



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood Kink, Denial, Depression, Dermatillomania, Dreams, M/M, Minor Violence, Miscarriage, Past Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Recovery, Self-Harm, Trans Character, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 10:58:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9720662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edy/pseuds/edy
Summary: He has that dream again.





	

**Author's Note:**

> inspiration: "heavydirtysoul" by twenty one pilots
> 
> translation into русский available: [Steer Me from the Hive of Bees ](https://ficbook.net/readfic/5599151) by [ingefaerel](https://ficbook.net/authors/448174)
> 
> -
> 
> i would like to thank [mars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marsakat/pseuds/marsakat) for pointing me in the right direction with this medical abnormality by saying, and i quote, "I feel like it's grøss enough to go in a edy fic"
> 
> so, without further ado—
> 
> happy valentine's day!

He has that dream again, the one with the car and the smoke. The car's spinning out of control, the tires leaving behind tracks that stain like dry ink, and he hears screaming. He presses his hands over his ears, but it doesn't work. He still hears the screams. He wants to stuff his face between his knees and scream with them. His body doesn't bend that way, though. It won't let him bend that way.

He is in that dream again, sat in the backseat of the car as it twirls en pointe, comical. It skids, turns, rolls and rolls and rolls—

He wakes from that dream again, in bed, the smoke in his nose, the smoke in his room. His nails are talons as he claws at his face, right at the crease of his nostrils, where it curves into his philtrum. The pads of his fingers skim along three pimples, once large and sore with white pus, but now angry red scabs. He pets the blemishes and digs in his nails and pulls, pulls, drags. An eruption, a river, he feels good.

He doesn't want to experience this dream again, and yet it haunts him every night—sometimes twice in one night. He wakes from it all the same, clutching his stomach, face sticky, eyes wet. Shivering, he paces his apartment until he stops thinking about the car's roof falling in, about the front collapsing into the trunk of a dead tree. Throughout his little apartment, he walks and shakes and usually returns to bed at the first hint of morning.

Some nights, he lies on the bathroom floor and listens to the faucet drip. Methodical almost, he closes his eyes and listens and swears he can smell gasoline.

His arms curl tighter around his stomach.

*

Josh visits three days a week.

He always knocks three times on the door and smiles when it opens. "Hey, Tyler!" he always says, and gives a wave. "How's it going, man?"

Tyler smells apple pie today, the container safely held between Josh's hands. As of now, the red hard plastic box is here more than it is at Josh's. Josh cooks, Tyler eats, Tyler cleans, and Josh cooks. An endless cycle, Tyler would anticipate it ceasing after nine months. He doesn't think it'll go on. He doesn't know if he wants it to go on, not like this—whatever  _this_  is.

His head hurts. He tells Josh, "I'm okay." They go into the kitchen, standing by the counter where Josh pulls off the lid and fills Tyler's apartment with the aroma of everything good in the world. His stomach makes a sound. He covers it with his hand, instinct taking control.

Josh knows Tyler isn't okay. Tyler is typically a good liar; he can lie through his teeth and still manage a shit-eating grin with death in his eyes. With Josh, it's different. First time they met, Tyler, swollen feet and snot running into his mouth, was locked out of his apartment. Cold outside, a heavy coat could hide the growth of his abdomen, but it couldn't hide Josh's rapid blinking and parted lips as he said in a careful and steady tone, "You can wait in my apartment for the landlord." He helped Tyler to his feet, his hand careful on Tyler's stomach, and Tyler tried to fight and couldn't.

"I'm fine. Leave me alone."

"Dude," he said, face paling only for a moment. "I-I mean,  _look_ , you're allowed to depend on people. Lemme help you."

Josh visits three days a week.

He comes with food and a smile, and he knows when Tyler is lying—most of the time. He's timid when it comes to confronting Tyler, doesn't want to offend. "You've been picking at your skin again." He points at his nose with the knife he's using to cut into the pie. It could be a vague gesture, but that morning Tyler woke and dug in and in and in until the scabs under his nostrils turned to little valleys, waterfalls.

The first time they met, Tyler sat outside his apartment for an hour, shivering and crying from his nose and eyes, and Josh helped him to his swollen feet, took him inside, and wiped his nose.

Josh wipes Tyler's nose now, ripping off a paper towel from the roll on the wall. He sets the knife on the counter and turns his full body to put his all into lightly dabbing the blood from Tyler's face. Tyler's eyes go cross to stare at an old burn on the webbing between Josh's thumb and forefinger.

"Has he called you?" Josh asks, because he knows by now Tyler's picking accelerates at times of stress. Unfortunately, for Tyler, he's stressed a lot as of late. "Tried to get in contact?" He lets Tyler hold the paper towel while he pulls plates from a cabinet and grabs more silverware from a drawer. He knows where everything is in Tyler's apartment.

"No," Tyler says, peeling the paper towel from his face to look at the blood on the absorbent fabric. "Won't answer my texts."

Josh shakes his head. "I wouldn't even give him the time of day."

Tyler presses the paper towel back to his nose, eyes narrowed.

Josh asks, "Still spotting?"

Tyler says, "Yes," and touches his stomach again.

Josh asks, "Have you eaten anything today?"

Tyler says, "Cherry candy cane." Peppermint isn't soothing anymore.

Josh reminds him it's seven in the evening, and Tyler says, "Yes." Josh frowns, but he's quiet. He sets a slice of pie on the plate and hands it to Tyler, along with a fork. "Table?" Tyler says, already anticipating Josh's insistence to sit somewhere other than the couch.

"Table," Josh confirms.

Tyler sits. Josh sits with him, beside him, a plate with apple pie, too. Fork in hand, Tyler stabs the pie and does nothing else. He closes his eyes and doesn't move, doesn't want to move. Kept tightly in his fist, the blood-splotched paper towel stains his palm more readily when Tyler reapplies it to the skin around his nose. Raw and still bleeding, Tyler winces and adds more pressure.

Josh watches him, not eating either. "Do you want to say grace?" Josh suggests.

Tyler never wants Josh to stop visiting. "Sure."

Josh takes Tyler's bloody hand.

*

Josh visits three days a week.

He brings over food, and after they finish eating, it's okay for Tyler to sit on the couch because then Josh is with him on the couch. Tyler's shirt is pulled over his stomach, and Josh is rubbing it, his hands warm with cocoa butter. Sometimes Tyler watches, and sometimes Tyler tilts his head back and closes his eyes.

"Hey," Josh whispers, his breath sweet and his fingers circles. "When do you think I'm gonna feel them kick?"

Tyler's smile is forced. "Whenever they wake up."

*

The first time they met, Tyler locked his keys in his car and decided he deserved to sit in the cold with swollen feet and improperly layered for winter. No scarf, no hat to cover his head, Tyler planted himself in his driveway and didn't raise his head until Josh touched him.

"What are you doing out here?" Josh asked, and Tyler crossed his arms over his chest. He shivered.

"Locked my keys in my car."

"You're fucking blue. Get up."

Tyler shook his head. "I'm fine."

Josh touched him. Tyler cried, snot going down his chin, between his knees, as Josh struggled to push him to his feet. "You don't have to wait in the cold, holy shit. You're freezing. You can wait in my apartment for the landlord."

Josh might have known what the protrusion of Tyler's stomach meant—he must have known. He couldn't stop touching Tyler there. Even when Tyler fought to maintain control, Josh's hand was firm, one on his stomach and the other on the small of his back.

"I'm fine," Tyler said. "Leave me alone."

"Dude," Josh said, and Tyler looked in Josh's eyes and felt safe. "Lemme help you."

*

The first time they met, Tyler sat in Josh's apartment, on his sofa, and watched TV and genuinely felt happy.

Josh fixed him hot chocolate and said, "You look much better pink than blue." He said, "I'm relieved I took out the trash when I did. Wouldn't have seen you. Who knows how long you would be sitting out there, waiting for the landlord to let you inside."

Tyler dropped marshmallow after marshmallow into his mug.

*

Because Tyler met Josh, he felt cherished and appreciated for the first time since he became pregnant.

*

Josh's hands are still creamy with cocoa butter. He's telling Tyler to take off his pants.

"So I can rub some on your thighs," he reasons.

Tyler gives Josh a look, eyebrow raised, but he does as instructed. He shoves his jeans to the floor and slides up the leg of his boxers. His thigh is dark with thick hair that stands on end once Josh's hands roam among them. Josh pays close attention to the curve of Tyler's bottom, sticking his hand further up than Tyler would expect him to go, but Tyler doesn't tell him to stop. Instead, Tyler shuts his eyes. He shuts his eyes and thinks of simpler things. His stomach is still exposed; everything about him feels exposed. He wants Josh to say something. Josh moves to his other thigh, both hands going up inside the leg of Tyler's boxers to touch and skim.

Tyler's wet. Tears fan down his cheeks, and he squirms from the sudden damp between his legs. "Please," Tyler whispers, over and over, and Josh removes his hands, fixes Tyler's shirt, and hugs him.

Hugging Josh back is paramount, but Tyler is more preoccupied with digging his nails into the sides of his face.

"What is it?" Josh asks, and he's squatting, maneuvering them until he's sitting beside Tyler, arms still wrapped around his torso.

"Feel really bad," Tyler admits.

"Morning sickness?" Josh pulls away to stare at Tyler. He uses the sleeve of his shirt to wipe away the tears and blood. "Or is it more emotional?"

"Everything."

"If you want to call him, call him. I really don't think you should waste your time on him, Tyler." Josh sets his hand on Tyler's knee, palm warm.

Tyler shakes his head. He's crying again, even more. Shoulders working up and down, Josh hugs him again. Sickly sweet, Tyler cries into Josh's neck. "I'm wasting  _nine months_  of my time on him, Josh."

"Tomorrow morning, okay? I can get up early and drive you to Planned Parenthood. We'll get rid of it. How far along are you?"

"Fourteen weeks."

"We're good." Josh strokes the side of Tyler's neck with a thumb. "I can drive you. We'll  _go_. We'll make this better."

Tyler sniffs, setting his chin on Josh's shoulder. Cocoa butter will never leave his nostrils. "I can't, Josh."

Then, Josh asks, "Why?" With the couch cushions dipping to accommodate Josh scooting back, Josh keeps steady hands on Tyler's shoulders and asks this again. "Why?" he says, and it's simple and not simple at all. To a limit, Josh understands. He respects choice. But the other part, he's not asking outright. Spoken by a stranger, it would be rude. It would be offensive. Josh, though, Josh is a friend, and so when Josh asks, "Why?" with eyes unwavering, Tyler responds with a quiet, "I always wanted to carry a child."

Predictable, still with those steady hands, Josh reels in Tyler again, this hug a little tighter than before. "Want me to stay the night?" Josh asks now, suggestive. Tyler shivers. Josh shushes him, shushes his shivering. "It's okay. It's okay."

*

He has that dream again. Tires squealing, the smell of gasoline in the air, he's in the backseat and watching the faceless driver in the rear-view mirror. There's an old air freshener hanging from there. It's the first to catch fire if there is a fire in his dream.

Tonight, nothing catches fire. He's in the backseat of the car he had when he was sixteen and anticipating the crash, the rolling, the screaming of loss of life. It comes suddenly. The driver is going down the highway, speeding, in control, and then they turn the wheel, sharp, and the car's skidding, skipping, and a large tree is the cushion. An obstacle, sprouting fully grown out of nowhere, it smacks into the car and becomes its own being. It has control now, and it takes him from the ruins of the backseat and shakes, shakes, shakes, and he's screaming.

The blankets twist and embrace his legs. Fuzzy, heavy for the cold weather, it is a snake, a coil, and he struggles to get free. Sticky, shaking so damn bad, once he's casting the blankets aside, he's hurrying to the bathroom. Door shut, but not closed, he works his boxers to his knees, yelping, wincing, hissing at the adhesive of his menstrual pad ripping away his pubes.

He sits on the toilet and dares not look anywhere but at the shower curtain.

Cautiously, from the door, Josh lightly raps his knuckles into the wood. "Hey, Ty. Do you need anything? Is… is everything okay?"

Tyler rocks from side to side, exchanging his pad for a fresh one. "Everything's okay. Go back to bed." Quietly, he adds, "Please, Josh."

Josh leaves. Tyler flushes the toilet and lies on the floor. The sink drip, drip, drips, and Tyler cradles his stomach with sweat-soaked arms.

*

He wants to be in that dream again. He wants to be enveloped by rubble and carted away by an ambulance, by an angel. He wants to catch fire and be known by everybody when they watch the six o'clock news.

He isn't dreaming. He's on the bathroom floor, the cool tile no longer refreshing as it melts to his body temperature. Shivers take him. He hoists himself onto the toilet again, his pubes catching in the adhesive of the pad again. He changes the pad for a new one again and listens to Josh knock on the bathroom door again.

"Do you need me to call a doctor or something?"

"No," Tyler says, hurriedly, and scratches at his face, his jaw, down to his neck. "No, I'm fine. I think it was something I ate."

"Are you saying I poisoned you?"

" _No_."

Josh laughs. Tyler sighs and covers his face with clammy hands. "I get it, man," Josh says, sounding as if he's leaning against the wall by the bathroom door. "It's not really  _morning_  sickness."

Tyler can play along. "Yeah."

"Don't want you staying up all night, though. Come to bed soon. You can bring a bucket. Just in case."

"Okay." Tyler pulls up his boxers and peeks into the toilet. The water inside is clear, no blood, nothing. He flushes anyway.

The bucket he uses when he gets sick is the perfect diameter to hug if he were not harboring a miniature version of himself and the devil.

In bed, Josh is on his way to sleep. He's curled on his side, lips parted, his plume of yellow hair spread out on a pillow with a hole in the case. For a moment, Tyler believes Josh is too far gone, but Josh is awake. He doesn't open his eyes. He says, "C'mere," and Tyler sets the bucket on his side of the bed, crawls under the blankets, and lies on his side. Although his back is to Josh, it doesn't matter. It's what Josh wanted. He's scooting close, closer, and delicately draping his arm over Tyler's stomach, holding and rubbing it.

"Want 'em to wake up," Josh whispers, laughing near the end. "Wanna feel little feet."

Tyler squeezes his eyes shut. "Later."

*

He has that dream again. A tree as a crash pad, he flies through the windshield, soaring, soaring, and when he lands, he touches his stomach and finds he has no stomach.

Flames engulf him. It's all he ever wanted.

*

Josh is here when he wakes. Curtains pulled shut, the tiniest sliver of sunlight peering through casts a sharp line along the carpet, as bright as fire. Tyler turns from the light and finds more light on his other side; Josh is on his phone. This light is dim and welcome. It bounces off Josh's nose and forces shadows to line his face. Josh is tired, chronically tired, doesn't try to hide it from Tyler. He turns his head and stares at Tyler, watching him get comfortable, watching him pull the blankets to his nose.

"Okay?" Josh asks, lazy. His phone screen goes black. He blinks, eyes sliding closed and not opening.

Tyler presses the button on Josh's phone. It's seven in the morning. He locks the phone and carefully sets it on Josh's chest. "Do you work?"

Josh hums. "Day off."

"What do you do?"

"Coffee," he sighs, and stretches his arms over his head. Slow motion, his phone slides to rest between the cracks of torso and bed sheet. Mindful, Tyler picks up and places it on the nightstand. Despite the dark, he can tell he's trembling.

"I should make you coffee sometime," Josh goes on to say, lowering his hand to scratch the five o'clock shadow on his face. "Decaf. Something sweet."

Tyler turns his head and stares at Josh, frozen, fingers still curled to scratch, but resting against his cheek. Eyes closed, blanket over a calf muscle while his other leg is bent at the knee, Josh looks as if he might sleep for a few more hours.

That's before Tyler gets on all fours and slides over to him. That's before Tyler steadies himself as he presses his leg between Josh's legs and  _sits_. He's wet—never not wet. He sits, his pad rubbing against him, and Josh lets out an "oh?" because he's half-asleep, slowly waking—he's half-awake. "Oh," he repeats, and he runs his fingers down Tyler's side and holds onto his hip. "Oh, Tyler," he whispers, and stares, smiles. "You gonna…?" Open-ended and friendly, Tyler almost feels guilty for rolling his hips, for grinding down, down, down into Josh's thigh.

"As much as I like dry humping," Josh says, "I prefer bare skin against bare skin." A subconscious gesture, Josh curls his fingers into the hem of Tyler's shirt. Tyler watches Josh tilt his head back and finds himself mimicking the move.

"Gonna get blood everywhere," Tyler whispers.

" _Don't care_."

"Help me."

Tyler pushes himself to his knees, and Josh helps slide his boxers down, cautious of the blood. His hands are grabby, eager, and he guides Tyler back to his thigh after he pulls up the leg of his shorts to expose pale skin and dark body hair. "Right there," he says, and Tyler sits, and he slides, and it's easier now with no barriers. Tyler touches Josh's chest, and Josh touches Tyler's hip, and Tyler rocks, and Josh watches. He just watches, and Tyler smears blood and his self-lubrication over Josh's thigh. Back and forth, side to side, Tyler lowers his gaze and looks around the pouch of his stomach to see red and brown matted within the black. Propped up by an elbow and waving his finger, Josh's voice is rough when he utters, "That's hot." Tyler has to close his eyes. He can't look, can't function, can't—

Josh sticks his fingers in the mess and pulls Tyler's shirt over his stomach.

"Don't."

Josh draws a heart.

Tyler thinks about screaming. "Josh…"

Josh's fingers are back on Tyler's thigh, slipping up Tyler's thigh, between Tyler's legs. Heat, that's how Tyler can describe this. It's heat, a tight coil; he's being branded. Not one finger, not two, Josh presses in three fingers and curls them. Tyler is hot, he's suffocating, and Josh is burning him alive.

"Listen," Josh tells him, and moves his fingers inside Tyler, wiggling them, sliding them out, and sliding them back inside. "Are you listening?"

"Feels so good," Tyler admits.

Josh bends his wrist and passes his thumb over Tyler's clit. "And that?"

Tyler's shaking. "Better."

Josh bites Tyler's chin.

Tyler's shaking so much. He touches Josh's shoulders to hold himself upright, but it's hard. He's swaying, whimpering. " _Josh_."

"On your back," Josh says. "I'll take care of you."

They move as a unit, Josh doing most of the lifting. Shoving the blankets aside, presenting the bed as a lifeboat, he lays Tyler on a spot void of any cover. Warm, soft, too much and not enough, Josh takes Tyler into his mouth. He gently sucks away the blood, tongue working along Tyler's folds. His lips wrap around Tyler's labia, first the majora, and then, with a tilt of his head and his nose digging into Tyler's clit, the smaller ones within. Tyler can hear Josh swallow, can  _feel_  Josh swallow. Tyler wants to touch, but he doesn't touch. He's bucking his hips, squirming in tight circles. Slow and peaceful waves, fingers gripping the hem of his t-shirt, Tyler rides Josh's face, and Josh fucks Tyler with his tongue and his hands holding Tyler's legs open.

At Tyler's climax, Josh raises his head and peers around Tyler's stomach. To say Josh looks disgusting would be a lie. He is a vampire, a cannibal, the blood from Tyler's uterus as far up as the bridge of his nose. He is otherworldly, and to Tyler, otherworldly is ethereal.

"Get back down there," Tyler says, eyes fluttering shut, "and suck my clit."

Josh obliges. He is a generous lover.

*

Josh says he can wash Tyler's bed sheets.

"Since I… made a mess."

They're lying in bed, Tyler dressed and on the verge of sleep. The pad between his legs catches a steady stream of blood. "If you want," Tyler whispers.

Josh's lips taste like blood. They're stained. Tyler kisses him and kisses him and kisses him.

"You taste nice." Tyler rolls onto his side, cupping Josh's cheeks and pulling him closer. He kisses and tastes, and his stomach churns.

"Tasting yourself," Josh comments.

Tyler smiles. "And a million lives that will never know the light."

"Shut the fuck up." Josh rubs the top of Tyler's head with his palm, the one not stained as red as his lips. "You're delirious. Go to sleep."

Josh changes the sheets, and Tyler sleeps.

*

He has that dream again. The car doesn't drive for long. It crashes instantly. He opens his eyes, and he's spinning, spinning, spinning. No warning, no build up, he's in the car, and then he's on the asphalt.

Blood clings to his face. Bees make a hive in his wounds, drifting from frosted flowers and cryptic combs. He picks and picks at them, tearing off their wings and yanking at their stingers, but they don't leave. They make a home in his stomach. He smells gasoline. He hears screaming.

When he wakes, Josh is still here. He's in the kitchen, but Tyler goes into the bathroom. He sits on the toilet and stares at the blood in his boxers, on his thighs, on his hands. He pushes up his shirt and swears there are bees buzzing inside.

Josh knocks on the bathroom door. "Tyler? You okay?"

"Taking a shit. Leave me alone."

Josh laughs. It's magic.

Tyler scoops the blood from the toilet bowl and tries pushing it back inside. He's wet. He's always wet.

It won't stay inside.

"Please," Tyler tells the form in his hands. "You're not supposed to be out just yet." Barely above a whisper, he's chanting, squeezing until his knuckles turn white. "You're making your mother very upset. He's not done with you yet.  _I'm_  not done with you yet."

More blood lands in the toilet. Sick and heavy, Tyler helps it back between his legs, helps it return home. And they stay.

They stay inside.

*

Josh orders pizza. Tyler eats half of it. Josh kisses the sauce from his face.

*

Tyler used to get yelled at for picking at his skin. His mom, his dad, they would be kind. They'd take him by his wrists and guide his hands to his lap. "Don't do that, honey. You can pick at your nails, okay? Not your face. Not your skin."

The man Tyler was with—not a boyfriend, not a partner, and sure as hell not a lover—he'd bring bruises Tyler needed to pick and scratch and peel. The man Tyler was with, he was an enabler. The man Tyler was with, on the night Tyler got pregnant, he said Tyler was beautiful.

The man Tyler was with, he left Tyler at first hint of morning, and Tyler hasn't seen him since.

Tyler calls, Tyler texts— _don't you want to be in your child's life?_

Tyler calls, Tyler texts— _i thought you cared about me._

Tyler calls, Tyler texts— _i keep having this dream._

*

Josh visits five days a week.

Sometimes he doesn't bring food. Sometimes he wants to sit with Tyler and watch TV. Sometimes he touches Tyler. Sometimes he shoves his hand into Tyler's jeans and swirls Tyler's clit with the wet slick of Tyler's cunt.

Most of the time, it's mixed with blood. Most of the time, Josh licks his fingers clean.

Every time, Josh asks, "Have you been to your doctor?"

And every time, Tyler replies, "Yes, they said we're healthy."

And every time, Tyler tastes blood on Josh's tongue and feels Josh's fingertips pushing inside him and burrowing deep to keep the bees company.

*

He has that dream again and again and again.

He loses weight.

He lies on the bathroom floor and listens to the bees in his stomach.

He picks air holes for them.

*

Josh comes over one night with a bouquet of roses. They're as pink as his cheeks. "Uh, I… I just thought…"

Tyler takes him to bed.

Nestled between Tyler's legs, slowly pulling a pube from his tongue, Josh says, "You're not bleeding as much."

"Are you disappointed?"

"Maybe." Josh spits on Tyler's clit.

Tyler says, "Put your dick inside me."

Josh is rough. Leaned over Tyler, pressing kiss after kiss into Tyler's neck, he knocks his hips into Tyler over and over, causing the bed to knock, too, over and over, over and over. He's whispering something, but he's also rubbing Tyler's clit, and Tyler curls his toes and pulls Josh's sunshine hair and screams as he comes.

"Shit," Josh hisses, on his knees, a hand on his cock. Inch by inch, Tyler loses the sensation of being full. "Shit," Josh repeats, over and over, over and over. "Maybe I should have used a condom."

Tyler sits. Hand to his stomach, hand to his face, he looks at Josh's dick, still kept in Josh's hand around the base. With the nightstand lamp switched on, the blood is hard to miss, and the black bits, the clots, mold to Josh's shaft, almost like rope. Josh laughs at this, a little nervously, and scratches the back of his head. "Kinda, like… fucked up. Did my come… turn…?"

"Sure," Tyler says. He wraps his fingers around Josh, both hands, and collects everything into his fists. Oily and smelling of rot, Tyler lowers himself onto his back and spreads his legs. Josh watches. Josh parts his lips. Tyler rubs the mess over his cunt and sinks two fingers inside himself.

Josh blinks. "Wh-what are you… doing?"

Tyler's wet. His cheeks are burning crimson, and he's crying. He's crying. "Am I beautiful?"

"Fuck, Tyler. You're perfect."

Everything smells of rot. Tyler runs his hands over his stomach, cradling it, staining it. He has hives. When he picks at them with blood under his nails, Josh takes him by the wrists and says, "We need to shower." He says, "Or a bath." He says, "I'll rub cocoa butter on you after."

Tyler says, "Okay."

*

He has that dream again.

He's dead. It's dead. She's dead. They're dead. He's dead.

Sirens, lights, a fire truck is here before the ambulance. When the ambulance makes an appearance, he's pronounced dead on arrival.

The bees fly from his mouth.

He wakes with Josh's hands on his stomach.

It's a slow moment, a careful moment. He's on fresh bed sheets, loose sweatpants hugging his hips, white socks on his feet, a t-shirt Josh picked out keeping him warm. Josh's movements are calculated. Cocoa butter come and gone, Josh is a vampire, Josh is a cannibal, Josh wants to be a father.

"When do you think," he says, "I'm gonna feel them kick?"

Tyler doesn't even try to smile. "Whenever they wake up."

*

He has that dream again.

The car is gone. He's on the asphalt, and it is snowing. There's a rabbit on his chest, with glowing red eyes. Her ears are long, perking and twitching at his fingers weaving through her white fur.

A heartbeat flutters beneath his fingertips. "Why?"

Tilting her head, the rabbit wiggles her nose and opens her mouth. "Because," she says.

"Why?" he pleads, and wants to shake the rabbit, but he doesn't shake the rabbit.

 _Because you deserve this_ , he expects.  _Because you are a harlot. Because you are in Hell._

"Because," the rabbit chirps, "now is not the right time."

She hops from his chest and disappears into the fog.

And he wakes. And he goes back to sleep.

And he has that dream again. It's worse this time. He's dying. He's dead. He's bleeding out. He's screaming. He loses his voice. He needs to be heard.

All he can smell is smoke and cocoa butter, and he's in the car again with his arms outstretched to the sky, and he's in the car again and again, and he dies.

He wakes.

Josh is sleeping, hands curled into fists around the blanket. His face isn't lined. He is breathing. He is always breathing. He is always sleeping next to Tyler. He's always here. Josh visits seven days a week.

Tyler sits on the toilet. There is no more blood.

He cries and picks at his stomach. "For you," he says. "All for you."

*

He has that dream again and again and again.

He gains weight.

He lies on the bathroom floor and listens to the bees in his stomach.

He continues to pick air holes for them.

*

Josh visits seven days a week.

He only goes to his apartment to change clothes. He doesn't bring over food anymore; he makes the food at Tyler's place. With his phone pulled up to a recipe online, Josh makes sure the food is safe for Tyler to eat before he throws in spices and presses samples to Tyler's lips. No matter how delicious or tender Josh's cooking is, dropping to his knees and bending over the toilet bowl becomes second nature to Tyler.

He vomits every day.

He gains weight.

Josh is rubbing Tyler's swollen feet one night when he asks, "How far along are you?"

Tyler says, "Fourteen weeks," and Josh says, "You were fourteen weeks  _weeks_  ago."

Tyler pretends to sleep. Josh squirts cocoa butter on his hands.

*

Josh's roses die. Tyler wraps them in a garbage bag and sings as he delivers them to their garbage can grave.

*

He has that dream again.

Josh is there, in the middle of the road. His hair is too bright.

Tyler watches the car swerve twice before crashing, colliding, killing.

He can't hear screaming. He can hear buzzing. Swatting does nothing. Crying does nothing. The car falls apart, and Tyler opens his arms and shouts.

And it does nothing.

*

He has that dream again and again, and Josh dies again and again, and Tyler is infested again and again.

*

Josh visits seven days a week.

Every night, between the hours of three and four in the morning, he wakes to find Tyler lying on his back in the bathroom. Expanded stomach, wet cheeks, nails scratching and scratching holes into his skin, Tyler is haunted.

The trash bin by the toilet fills up with yellow menstrual pad wrappers.

Most nights, Josh stands in the doorway for a minute, and then returns to the comfort of bed.

This night, though, tonight, Tyler is still sat on the toilet, head in his hands, and he doesn't register Josh's arrival until Josh speaks.

"Hey," he says, "you okay?"

"I'm fine," Tyler says. "Leave me alone."

"Where are your, uh, ultrasounds?" Josh plays with his fingers and doesn't look at Tyler.

Tyler blinks. "Under my bed."

Josh leaves.

Tyler looks at his hands.

"Tyler," Josh says, from the bedroom. "Is there just supposed to be one? For twelve…" Voice wavering, he's starting to count. It's under his breath. "T-Tyler, this ultrasound is… Tyler, this can't be… it. This…  _Tyler_."

Tyler's gaze goes past his thighs, as do his hands. Despite the toilet water being cold, the contents are warm. Slimy, Tyler has to slide further back on the seat to ensure the secure transportation of—of—

Almost like grapes, Tyler rolls them around in his palms.

Josh is still talking. "Tyler, there's only one ultrasound here, and… Tyler, I don't think…" He's in the doorway, eyes on the ultrasound, not on Tyler. "This ultrasound is about eight years old." He looks at Tyler now, not at the ultrasound, at Tyler, at the not-grapes in his hands. He's pale. He's muttering under his breath, the words nonsensical, tragic, so tragic.

"Tyler, where did that come from?"

"I keep having this dream," Tyler says.

"We need to get you to the hospital." Josh drops the ultrasound and steps over it. To his knees, Josh says, "Get rid of that. Drop it. Please."

"I can't," Tyler says. "I'm not done with them yet. They need to go back inside."

"Drop it." Josh is pink now. "Drop it, drop it."

"No, no, no—"

"Drop it right now. Tyler, listen to me. Look at me. That isn't… This is… Drop it."

Tyler ducks his hands between his legs. He doesn't drop them.

Josh takes Tyler by his biceps and shakes him. Some of the not-grapes plop into the toilet. "Drop it. Don't you  _dare_ —"

"They're not ready yet. I'm not done with them yet."

"Give me your hands." Josh is rough. His fingers will leave bruises. He yanks, and he pulls Tyler from the toilet. "You need to go to the hospital. How long has this been going on?"

Tyler's hands are stained. They're empty. They're shaking. "M-m-my—"

Josh's hands are clean. His palm connects with Tyler's cheek sharply. A soothing strike, Tyler remembers how to use his feet.

Josh repeats the question.

"Haven't kept track," Tyler says. Josh closes his eyes. "I never went to the doctor. I couldn't go to the doctor. Josh, I'm so sorry."

"You're going now." Josh grabs toilet paper and cleans Tyler the best he can, gentle pats, gentle wipes. "We're going now."

Tyler screams at the toilet flushing.

Josh taps Tyler's cheek with his fingers. Hot, red, Josh says, "Tell me about your dream."

Tyler does.

*

Tyler learns a new word today.

Due to his insistence—and stupidity—of not seeing an OBGYN during his pregnancy, he's subjected to both an internal and external exam, all with Josh by his side.

"Is he the father?" the doctor asks, and Tyler smiles and says, "Not to my knowledge."

Tyler learns a new word today.

Shirt pulled over his stomach, cool gel spreading over his skin, picked at and otherwise clear, the doctor wants to know his history. "A look at your file tells me you were pregnant once before. Eight years ago, is that correct?"

Josh's expression is unreadable.

Tyler watches the doctor lower the transducer to his stomach. "I… I think so. I miscarried a few days after my first ultrasound."

Josh's mouth twitches.

Silence. The doctor moves the instrument. She says, "Tell me about your symptoms. Your…friend here said something about excessive bleeding and vomiting."

Tyler reaches for Josh's hand. Josh is passive. "Yeah, that, uh, sounds about right. I, I… Right around the twelve-week mark, I started to get some spotting, and I wasn't that concerned because I heard spotting was okay. But it didn't stop."

"It didn't stop."

"It got worse. And then, these… these… My baby fell out of me, and I tried putting them back in, but—"

"So, you miscarried," the doctor says, eyes still trained on the screen, not looking at Tyler. She continues moving the tool, continues sliding it through the gel.

"I didn't miscarry," Tyler says. Beside him, Josh turns his head to the side and closes his eyes. Beneath these lights, he looks ill. He may fall over. He touches his mouth, runs his tongue over his lips, and gags.

"Down the hall, on the left," the doctor says. Josh leaves.

Tyler says, "I didn't miscarry." More firmly this time, he's coming out on top. "I couldn't have miscarried. I shouldn't be this big. Maybe I was having twins. Maybe one of them—"

"You should have come straight to us when you first saw the clots. You needed to be cleaned out."

"But I didn't miscarry."

Josh returns wiping his mouth. The room isn't safe. He keeps to the doorway, pulling his jacket tighter around his frame.

"Have you had unprotected sex in the past month?" The doctor stares at Tyler, and she glances at Josh. "Is this where he comes in?"

"Several times." Tyler doesn't have the will to blush. Josh rubs his eyes.

"Tyler," the doctor says, quiet and sweet. She's paused in her movements, taking this moment to turn the screen toward Tyler.

From where he's standing, Josh sees first, and he's overcome, overwhelmed, too sick and not nearly as sick as he could be. He's crumbling, piece by piece, until he's flat on his back with his knees toward the ceiling. Eyes closed, lips wanting to touch, to close, as well, but he's cold, chilled to the bone, wet with grief, fucking drenched in it. From where he's lying, Josh can see the monitor, and his nose runs, his eyes leak, his mouth drips as he bellows, "There's a fucking beehive inside him."

Tyler gazes at the monitor.

The doctor is slow. "Tell me your symptoms."

"Excessive bleeding and vomiting," Tyler says, a parrot, void of emotion. "My baby was a bundle of grapes this time."

"After your first miscarriage, your body reverted to its natural state, and your cycle started again. During that time, you had unprotected sex and got pregnant. This"—she points at the monitor with a steady finger—"is called a molar pregnancy—a hydatidiform pregnancy. Like your friend kindly noted, it does mimic the appearance of honeycombs." She's trying to be soothing. She wants Tyler to relax. She needs Tyler to relax. "This type of pregnancy isn't viable. You… in all sense of the word, you had a miscarriage."

"Another one," Tyler mouths.

"The vesicles that form look like grapes. You weren't wrong to think you would have continued to grow if you were pregnant with twins, but a hydatidiform pregnancy has increased abdominal growth. This early in the pregnancy, there was fault with the fetus—not yourself." She's stern now. "At the first sight of blood, you should have scheduled an appointment. You should have had your first ultrasound around twelve weeks. How far along were you when the clots started falling out of you?"

"Fourteen weeks," Josh says from the floor.

"Why didn't you see an OBGYN? Were you planning on aborting?"

"Scared," Tyler says. And then, "Can I have a picture of that?"

She's confused, but she says she'll get a picture of his scan.

Slowly rising to his feet, Josh hugs himself, impossibly small. "Wait. So, like… this… He  _was_  pregnant again, right?"

"Technically, yes." She pulls off her latex gloves. "Do you want to wipe off his stomach?"

Josh is a machine. She gives him tissues. Josh cleans up Tyler, not the first time today. Tyler looks at the ceiling, eyes burning.

"Any other questions?" the doctor pipes.

"I keep having this dream," Tyler says.

"So, I was a dad," Josh says.

She answers Josh. Tyler's statement is a mother's impending grief. "Technically, yes, if it was your sperm involved."

Tyler learns a new word today.

She grabs Tyler's wrist and squeezes, unaware of the thin bruises along the skin underneath his jacket. "Do you need someone to talk to about your dermatillomania?"

"No," Josh says, and pulls down Tyler's shirt, hiding his stomach. "He's fine."

Tyler learns a new word today. It's "hydatidiform", and it means nine months from now, he would have given birth to the bees in his stomach.

*

He has that dream again. Wonky and the color of amber, Tyler is weak from the anesthesia. Josh is his walking cane, his savior.

"Don't try to conceive right away," they warn Tyler. "Wait at least six months, half a year."

"Don't worry about that," Josh says. It's scathing.

He has that dream again. Tyler's in the car, the doors falling off, the roof caving in. A halo is above him, and he wants to grab, grabs, but Josh takes it and tosses it toward the orange horizon line. Like a frisbee, it grows smaller and smaller.

He has that dream again. In Josh's car, parked on the side of the road, Tyler crawls into the snow and vomits. This is real because Josh's hands are warm. This is real because Josh has a halo around his head.

Josh carries him bridal style, back to his car, out of the car, to his apartment, to bed. "Sleep," he tells Tyler, "please."

"I don't want to sleep," Tyler says. He's wet. He's crying. "I don't want to dream."

"Shut the fuck up, Tyler." Josh touches his palm to the side of Tyler's face, on his cheek. He holds Tyler down, to the pillow, and doesn't move, even when Tyler weakly begins to squirm. He can breathe, so Josh isn't concerned. Josh keeps Tyler's head there until he stops moving. It doesn't take long. He's shivering, still in his jacket and shoes.

"Josh," he whispers, a tear getting caught on the bridge of his nose. "I think I want to die."

"Why?" Josh drops his hand in his lap.

"Because it scares me."

"Go to sleep."

Josh sticks the ultrasounds under the bed. He stays on the carpet.

*

At Tyler's fluttering eyelids, Josh leans over the edge of the bed and gets in Tyler's face. "What do you do?" he says.

"Nothing," Tyler confesses, breathless. "I stay at home and miscarry."

"Do your parents care? Did they know you were pregnant?"

"They care enough to send me money when I ask for it, and no."

Josh's lips tremble. "Not even once?"

"No."

He doesn't let up. He pitches, and Tyler catches. "What about school?"

"Dropped out when I got pregnant the first time. I have an associates' degree, though."

"What were you studying?"

"Art. English. I wanted to be a teacher."

"What grade?"

"High school. College. I don't know."

"Do you want to go to work or go to school?"

"Neither."

Josh smacks Tyler's arm, on his shoulder. "Do you want to go to work or go to school?"

"I-I don't know. Can I stay in bed for a few days? I need to rest."

Josh runs his fingertips along the fuzz at the top of Tyler's head. "I'm sorry." Not just for his aggression, Josh is apologizing on behalf of the whole world.

Tyler allows himself to cry. Josh holds him throughout it and cries, too.

*

Josh visits five days a week.

He brings over hot meals.

He smiles at Tyler.

*

Josh visits three days a week.

He watches TV on the couch.

He smiles at Tyler.

*

Josh visits once a week.

He knocks on the front door.

He doesn't smile at Tyler.

*

Josh doesn't visit anymore.

He waves in passing.

He can't stand to look at Tyler.

*

Tyler searches online for local universities. He munches on carrots and doesn't think about how his insides were a home for the devil.

*

He has that dream again and again and again.

He loses weight.

He stays in bed.

He goes to sleep.

*

He has that dream again.

No more smoke, no more screaming, Josh drives the car, Tyler in the passenger seat. The radio plays a song about getting into formation, and Tyler and Josh dance.

No more smoke, no more screaming, Tyler wakes to a text from the man he was with—not a boyfriend, not a partner, and sure as hell not a lover.

_You're due soon, right?_

Tyler laughs aloud. He laughs and holds his flat stomach and cries.

_i miscarried. fuck you._

*

Josh visits once a week.

Arms free of sleeves, a baseball cap on his head, and a dog with a long white muzzle and all-seeing eyes waiting by his heels, Josh says, "Got a dog."

Tyler smiles. "Really?"

They sit on the couch, the dog sniffing around the furniture. "What's… her name?" Tyler points at her, capturing her attention and weaving the very tips of his fingers into the fur at the sides of her neck.

Josh deadpans, "Buster."

Tyler nods. "Cool."

Josh's face splits in two. "It's actually Scully."

"Okay, okay, right.  _X-Files?_ "

" _X-Files_."

Twisting his wrist, Tyler follows the curve with a tilt of his head. The dog, Scully, she copies him and wags her tail. "Why are you here, Josh?" Tyler presses his palm to her muzzle.

"Haven't seen you leave the house for a while. Wanted to make sure you hadn't perished." With a tone suggesting laughter, no one laughs.

Pink tongue licking along the lines of his palm, Tyler tells him, "Stocked up on food. Never know when the world might end." With a tone suggesting laughter again, no one laughs.

"Okay." Josh covers his face.

"I actually went to the doctor yesterday. I'm… healthy." Tyler glances over. Scully follows his line of sight.

"Your car was in the driveway." Josh drags his hands down his cheeks, to his neck, dropping to let them hang between his knees. He looks to Tyler and expects Tyler to lie. Tyler lying is second nature.

But Tyler doesn't lie. He mumbles, "I don't like driving," and peels a dry piece of skin from his bottom lip. Tyler looks better, but he isn't. There are circles under his eyes and a rip in his lip. Along with that damage, a line of picked-at acne traces his temple down to his jawline. A patch of scuff sticks to his chin. Beneath his clothes, if Josh were to see, are air holes—not for bees, never for bees, but for him. He bleeds, he breathes, he lives.

Josh says, "Have you brushed your teeth today, man?"

Tyler smiles.

With Josh's dog now trotting into the bedroom, Tyler and Josh occupy the bathroom. Tyler presses his hip into the sink counter and opens his mouth as Josh winds a piece of floss around his fingertip, around a new burn on the side of it. He rises onto tiptoe to perform this task. It's over quickly, Josh efficient at menial jobs. When it comes to the next step, this is done slowly and with the utmost care. Josh scrubs at Tyler's teeth. Too intense for eye contact, Tyler stares at a spot on the wall. The last renters had a butterfly decoration that faded into the wall.

"Spit," Josh says, and Tyler spits and says, "You don't know me at all."

Josh rinses off the toothbrush. "I know you like it when I use three fingers. I know you like it when I spit on your clit. I know you like it when I fuck your brains out." He places the toothbrush in the cup holder and pulls open the medicine cabinet. Mouthwash comes out.

"That doesn't count."

"Then let me know things that do count." Josh squeezes the mouthwash bottle before tilting the appropriate amount into a small measuring cup found next to the floss. The two plastics tap together. "Open."

Tyler says, "It's been six months," and opens his mouth.

Josh smiles.

*

Josh slides three fingers inside Tyler's cunt.

Josh spits on Tyler's clit.

Josh fucks Tyler's brains out.

*

At morning's first light, Scully jumps on the bed and brings a toy with her—a book she discovered on the floor by Tyler's desk.

Josh yanks it from her snout and deals sufficient damage. "Sorry."

A little groggy, Tyler stretches out on his stomach and speaks into his pillow. "I bought it used on Amazon for, like, two bucks. I can get another."

Josh squints and flips through the pages. "What is this for?"

"A class."

"You're going to school?"

Tyler snorts. "Well, I'm  _trying to_ , but your dog is jeopardizing that."

Josh laughs, like bells. "I'll buy you a new one."

"Two bucks," Tyler says, holding up two fingers, "plus shipping and handling."

"Standard."

"And you gotta buy me a rabbit."

Josh tosses the chew toy on the nightstand. "Why a rabbit?"

Tyler shrugs. He closes his eyes.

Josh curls into him, an arm over his back, and kisses his cheek. "A rabbit, okay. What type?"

"Flemish Giant," recalls Tyler, the faintest grin on his face.

"Lionhead," Josh hears, "got it."

*

He has that dream again.

At this point, it's a different dream.

Still haunting, yes, but this dream is peaceful. Josh is always driving, and Tyler is always bouncing in his seat.

No crashing, no fire, no smoke, Tyler watches the car fall apart, and he and Josh fly.

*

In the kitchen, Josh calls for Tyler. Scully barks.

On Josh's shoulder, white and its nose twitching, the rabbit he promised Tyler is not a Lionhead. She's nibbling on Josh's ear, confused at the stretched hole in the lobe. "Tyler, you okay?" He brushes his thumb over the rabbit's paw, reassurance for her and himself. "You've been in there for a while," Josh continues, not allowing himself to worry at Tyler's slow, dragging footsteps into the room. "If your stomach's upset, I can fix us some chicken noodle soup instead of—baby, why are you crying?" Josh carefully sets their rabbit on the floor. She watches the upcoming exchange curiously.

"Tyler? Talk to me." Josh takes Tyler's elbow in his hand, beginning to tug them over to the table to sit, but Tyler is sturdy, a tree trunk, spreading his roots as far as he's able.

Tyler reaches for Josh's hand and presses something damp into it. Josh blinks. Josh shakes. "I keep having this dream," Tyler says, Josh's eyes shining at the sight of two lines glowing in the center of his palm.

"I keep having this dream," Tyler says, "and it's a damn good dream."

**Author's Note:**

> [pantaloonwarrior](http://pantaloonwarrior.tumblr.com/), inspired by my fic, painted [this](http://edyluewho.tumblr.com/post/157441579559) and it's _so fucking lovely_ and _amazing_ (i still have tears in my eyes)
> 
> [elly](https://ingefaerel.tumblr.com/), the russian translator of this fic, made a [t-shirt](http://edyluewho.tumblr.com/post/162129491319)!!! i scream
> 
> [mack](https://junpsuits.tumblr.com/) made [two _splendid_ moodboards](http://edyluewho.tumblr.com/post/175478664684)!!


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